The Lion King remake
by The Forgotten Disciple
Summary: An improved version of my humanoid version of the Lion King
1. Chapter 1

_A.N. I guess I should explain myself: I felt that I could not continue the second humanoid story until I had gone back and improved the first one: descriptions, details, etc. Those of you who read Chronicles of the Pridelands will see hints of that in this version, since I felt it was the best explanation for Scar's 'evil'. So here is the new and improved Lion King._

Prologue

It was a damp morning and the sun had not yet risen. The grounds of the Royal Palace were bathed in semi-darkness and there were small puddles all over the place, remnants of the rain storm that had passed by the previous night. A lanky man sat on the top step of the vast stairway that led to the entrance doors. Dressed in a black leather trench-coat, he was easy to miss in the dark, and beneath this coat he wore a white shirt and a loosely tied black tie. He pulled a small silver lighter from one the coat's many pockets and lit a white cigarette which was hanging from his mouth. As he pocketed the lighter, he inhaled deeply on the cigarette and let a stream of smoke escape his nostrils. This chap did not look as if he belonged anywhere near a royal palace; his long black hair was streaked with grey and was very messy, he sported a stubble and his eyes were a cold green. These were not even his most distinguishing features; he sported a long scar over his left eye, which served as a reminder of a past he wished so desperately he could return to. He slowly ran a finger down his scar - an old habit most people in the palace found annoying - and he heaved a sigh.

The man I have just described went by the name of Scar, to those who knew him. As for those who had merely heard of him, they refer to him as 'Scarface', but he had once had a name, a real name: Thomas Jarlos. Though there were a few that still referred to him by this term, the name had lost all its meaning.

The Royal Palace had five massive towers; the biggest one had four large clock faces on either side. Thomas heaved himself to his feet and looked upward towards the Clock Tower, which now read 5:45, and he pulled out an expensive silver watch from his coat pocket and checked to make sure the time was right, seeing that it was he replaced the watch back within his coat. He wrapped the coat tightly around his body to keep out the cold morning air and proceeded to enter the palace through the vast double doors.

Thomas was walking down the second-floor corridor. This was the one of the most important sections of the Palace, since it contained the bedchamber of the King and Queen of Moroldia. Thomas did not give a damn about that, in fact he had made it his life's mission to completely alienate himself from their _'Royal Highnesses'. _The corridor itself was lavishly furnished, with cushioned sofas at regular intervals, vast paintings of previous Kings and Royal Families. Thomas' room had a wooden double door with brass handles. As he reached it, he removed the cigarette from his mouth, extinguished it on the wall and threw it into a corner, he then began fumbling among his numerous keys for the one that would gain him access to his private world of misery, he heard a familiar voice call out,

" Thomas!"

"Oh, shit," muttered Thomas and sped up his search for the right key. He had just found it when a large hand was placed on hid shoulder. Thomas inhaled deeply and slowly turned around, attempting all the while to remain calm, and he stared straight into the deep brown eyes of his older brother Michael - King Michael XII to be exact. Michael was roughly the same height as his brother, but his muscular build was a stark contrast to Thomas' scrawny frame, and though Thomas' eyes overflowed with intelligence, Michael's eyes were full of wisdom and as any learned person will tell you: there is a vast difference between wisdom and intelligence.

"I wanted to ask you something," Michael stated.

"Make it quick," Thomas said rudely, "So I can say 'no' and get on with my life."

Michael chose to ignore the hint of rudeness in Thomas' voice, though he had grown weary of it, he just decided to let it go…this time, "I want you to come to the Ceremony tomorrow."

Thomas rolled his eyes and said, "As I have told you, about eight times, I am not coming to that tribal ceremony."

Michael tried not to get worked up over this, and proceeded to say, "You and I went through it, as did our forefathers. I don't know what you have against it."

"Now look here," muttered Thomas, "It is the most ridiculous, superstitious, adolescent ritual in the history of all the Nine Kingdoms. How it still exists in this day and age, I'll never know."

"Thomas," said Michael, sternly, "I am asking you as a brother."

With that, Michael went back in the direction of his room, but not before looking back to see Thomas light another cigarette. Before Thomas entered his room, he heard Michael say, "What would Mother say if she say if she saw you smoking those?"

Thomas quickly removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked around nervously; he then looked at the cigarette with a guilty expression on his face. He sighed sadly and tossed the cigarette on the stone floor, crushing it with his foot.


	2. Ceremonoies and Arguments

Chapter 2: Ceremonies and Arguments

The early morning sun cast a golden light across the Palace Throne Room. The long room was packed with every man and woman that held an important title in the Moroldian Kingdom. King Michael was seated on a lavish throne at one end of the room, and beside him sat his beautiful and elegant wife Queen Serena, cradling their eight day old son close to her breast. Her luxurious dark hair flowed down her shoulders like honey and her warm brown eyes were alight with pride.

The birth of Prince Samuel had been one of the most talked about events among Serena's friends for the past nine months. The name Samuel had been chosen by Serena herself, about one month prior to Samuel's birth; Michael had wanted hoped he would be named Alexander – after Michael's father – but according to tradition, the mother chose the name of the child.

The room became suddenly silent as the huge doors of the throne room swung open. The entire room turned to gaze upon the form of an old man. Old Renato was tall for an old man, his red robes made a stark contrast with his white hair and beard. Renato moved down the hall with a remarkable speed. He reached the podium - upon which was situated the thrones of the King and Queen – and he climbed the four steps so he could stand before Michael. Renato bowed low, leaning on his staff, and Michael stood up and embraced his old friend,

"You have grown taller since last we met," whispered Renato.

Michael smiled, put his hand on the old man's shoulders and replied simply, "My old friend."

They both turned to look at Serena, who sat quietly with young Samuel cradled in her arms. Her eyes glittered as she looked down upon the tiny form in her arms; it was the glitter that every mother gets when looking upon her infant child. As Renato moved in front of Serena, Samuel opened his little eyes and turned to stare at Renato, those small eyes; filled with the innocence and honesty of childhood. Renato remembered when he had seen the same look in the infant Michael's eyes, all those years ago…he even remembered seeing the same look in Thomas' eyes, but that was also many years ago.

Serena smiled up at Renato, as he looked down on her son, she had never been so happy in all her life. The old man placed his hand on Serena's shoulder and whispered,

"Young Serena, your parents would have been so proud."

Serena whispered back, "Thank you, I…I don't know what to say."

Renato cast one more look upon the infant before turning back to Michael and said, "Shall we begin?"

Michael nodded gently and held his wife's hand as she stood up. The Throne Room had a vast balcony on one side, which was accessible via an enormous pair of pane glass doors. Serena allowed Renato to gently lift the baby out of her arms, and watched as he held him close to his chest. The old man could feel Samuel's soft breathing. Turning to face the noble people, Renato held Samuel in a way that everyone could see, and he said aloud,

"May Baka, the sweet Goddess of Birth bless this Royal Child." Around Renato's waist was a brown leather pouch, and he reached into it to pull out a small vial of ashes. He gently poured a few ashes upon the child's forehead, resulting in a small sneeze from Samuel, "May your forefather's guide you through the voyage of life, just as they have guided your father."

The entire hall resonated with the sound of soft applause, soft so as not to disturb Samuel as he fell back into a deep sleep. "Thank you, Renato," said Serena as Samuel was returned to her arms. Michael proceeded to inform the crowd that the official celebration would be held in the second floor dining room and as the crowd left the room, he drew his wife close for a soft kiss, and he quickly left the room, feeling his blood boil. He had noticed that someone was missing from the ceremony: Thomas had never bothered to appear and he intended to find out why, Michael did not enjoy fighting with his brother, but if his brother insisted on provoking him, he would have no choice.

Thomas lay upon his black leather couch, a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of whisky on the floor – within reach of his left hand. Thomas' room was one of the biggest in the whole Palace; it was, in fact, two rooms, consisting of a living room and a bedroom, both rooms were connected by double doors. The living room was quite large; there was a large oak table in the centre of the room, upon which Thomas' had his meals, across the room from the entrance doors was a vast window, to which Thomas had added special shutters which blocked out the sunlight, leaving the room to be lit solely by artificial light. On the right side of the room (next to the door which led to the bedroom) was a large bookshelf, filled with various books on poetry, classic literature, books on politics were in abundance and various other subjects. On the left side of the room, was Thomas' favourite spot in the entire Palace: his leather couch; he spent most of his time lying on the couch, spending most of his time wrapped up in his vast imagination.

On this particular day, he was recalling painful memories; his father's voice spoke out to him from the past, telling him not to waste his intelligence, but to put it to use in helping his brother to run the country. Alexander had always told him that Michael would need Thomas' help,

"How wrong you were, Father," Thomas whispered, removing the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a puff of smoke.

At that point there was a loud knock on the door, "Go away," shouted Thomas.

The door opened and Zachariah, Michael's Major Domo, walked, his colourful robes flowing behind him. Thomas looked up angrily and returned the cigarette to his mouth, "How many times have I told you to stay away from me?" demanded Thomas, "Now I advise you to make whatever explanation you are about to give, phenomenally good."

Zachariah frowned at Thomas, and proceeded to say, proudly, "I'm here to announce that King Michael is on his way," Zachariah then smiled, "And you'd better have a good excuse for missing the ceremony."

Thomas sighed, "No, I don't have one, but don't worry, I'll think of one by the time he gets here."

"Don't think your clever words can get you out of this one, he's as angry as a rabid Minotaur."

"Oh yeah," Thomas scoffed, "Well you can tell him to…"

At that point Michael came into view, "Tell me what, Thomas?"

Thomas shifted his gaze to his brother, sighed and whispered, "Nothing."

"Serena and I didn't see you at the presentation of Samuel."

"That was today?" Thomas said sarcastically as he moved to lie down on the couch and continue his cigarette, "Oh, I feel simply awful. Must have slipped my mind."

"Yes," Zachariah said as he moved up to stand beside Michael, who had moved to the side of Thomas' couch, "As slippery as your mind is, as the King's brother, you should have been first in line."

Thomas sat up and blew a stream of smoke into Zachariah's face, causing him to cough.

"I asked you to come…as a brother" said Michael, who had been rather hurt by the lack of interest his brother bore towards his son.

"Aww," moaned Thomas sarcastically, "Let me go buy a violin."

With that he moved towards the door, in an apparent hurry to leave and find another place where he could be alone, "Don't turn your back on me, Thomas," Michael warned him.

"Oh, no, Michael, perhaps _you_ shouldn't turn _your_ back on me."

Michael finally lost his temper, he spun Thomas around, grabbed him by the collar of his leather coat and hoisted him up against the wall causing Thomas' cigarette to fall to the stone floor, "Is that a challenge?" he bellowed.

"Whoa, whoa," Michael said calmly, "Temper, temper, I wouldn't _dream_ of challenging you."

"Pity," muttered Zachariah from behind Michael, "Why not?"

"Well," Said Thomas as Michael slowly lowered him to his feet, "As far as brains go I got the lion's share, but when it comes to brute strength," at this point Thomas shrugged, and rubbed his stubble, "I'm afraid I'm in the lower end of the gene pool."

With that Thomas left the room, but not before removing another white cigarette from its red packet and re-lighting it with his silver lighter. Michael wanted to say something, but he knew that it would be useless, so he simply extinguished the cigarette Thomas had dropped, with his foot.


End file.
